The Marx Brothers
by Miss Mello
Summary: Story about the life of the Marx Brothers Harpo's POV with the addition of Molly Padlock. Perfectly understandable, even if you've never heard of the Marxes before.
1. At First Sight

The Marx Brothers.. Legends among comedy and true comedians. I resently reread Harpo's book _Harpo Speaks!_ and I got myself into a whole Marx Brothers obsession. That and too much homework, is the reason I haven't been updating on my Harry Potter story for a while, but don't you worry, few fans! I'm working on the next chapter on that one too.

Well here is a Marx Brother fanfic, perfectly readable without any knowledge of the Marx Brothers (even though in my opinion everyone should know and love the Marx Brothers) and I hope even slightly humorish (: Next to that it might be good to know that the Marx Brothers are with the five of them; Harpo (from who's point of view it's written - with his autobiography as standard and example), origionally called Adolph (even though he changed his name to Arthur during the Great War, because it sounded too German), Chico, first Leonard, Groucho, or Julius, Gummo, Milton and last but not least Zeppo, or Herbert. Harpo said in his book that those stagenames were more their names than those given with birth, so they call themselves that. And so do I now.

Oh and important for those who don't know them; The Marx Brothers were them brothers (Harpo Marx, Chico Marx, Groucho Marx, Gummo Marx, Zeppo Marx) and they were very famous in those times (thirties). Gummo and Zeppo never liked showbizz so Gummo never even joined them on Broadway, before the movies and Zeppo quit with the movies as soon as his Paramount contract ran out, but the remaining three stayed shining years after. They were all wellknown for being funny and stuff blabla, just read okay?

Next to that; Enjoy!

*EDIT* I don't think this was clear enough: Molly Padlock, the girl that drops in, so it won't just be a Marx Brothers biography (because that way you'd better read the real ones; they're hilarious.. It makes me wish for a life like that), is thought up by me! SHE ISN'T REAL AND PROBABLY NEVER LIVED!

okay..

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

As long as I can remember Molly Padlock was our friend. I know we all just met her when she was about thirteen and myself only just turned twelve, but for some reason she always felt as part of the family.

I was born in the lower east side of New York, a neighbourhood with a lot of different nationalities. We ourselves were German Jews, with our own little street that was our territory, but you also had nationalities that had territories a lot larger than our own, which was only our own because we lived there.

Molly lived in the Irish part of the neighbourhood, along with the Italian the biggest around. Chico knew how to get through, like he always did. He was a master of imitation and just pretended to be an Italian by imitating the accent, when he wanted to pass to another part of town or use one of their poolrooms. I didn't have such luck. I always had half decent tennis balls with me or rings made out of horsehair, because you could sell those for a nickel and were therefor worth money. When you were caught by an enemy gang you could exchange those for your freedom, without getting beaten up too much.

It was also with Chico when I first met Molly. We were on our way to a friend of Chico's because Chico wanted to collect some dough the bloke still owned him from a game of pinochle earlier the month. Suddenly we were surrounded. Big kids, with pale skins and a lot of freckles had come out of apartment buildings, some holding baseball bats but all of them looking tough. I moved a little closer to Chico, standing straight and Chico put up a sure face, which wasn't so hard, because that was what he always looked like.

'Hey-a, you!' Apparently the leader of the group of about half a dozen said. He was even bigger and meaner-looking than the others and had short, messy red hair. 'So, you two think you can just invade without us noticing, heah?' He asked Chico, not even bothering to look at me, as I was hovering behind him.

Chico slipped into his role perfectly. 'Invade you say?' he said in a flawless Irish accent. The leader of the Irish gang that surrounded us frowned. '_You _are Irish?' He asked Chico. Chico frowned back at him. 'What made you think we weren't?'

The redheaded boy ignored it and said to his pals; 'Never mind. We'll have to wait for others.' They all groaned and turned around, disappointed that they couldn't beat a few nickels out of us. The leader sighed, looking after his fellows and then looked at us. 'Are you really Irish?' He asked, biting his bottom lip. Chico smiled pleasantly. 'I wouldn't say no.'

For a few seconds the leader looked at Chico blankly but then he started laughing. Like laughing _really loud_. It was also that moment that I noticed a lot smaller girl standing behind the boy. She was just a little taller than I was, probably about the same height as Chico and she was staring at him with narrowed eyes. I looked at Chico, about to nudge him, to make him aware of her staring at her, but I saw that he had already noticed her, as he was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

The gang leader seemed to notice our concentration lapse, because he looked around him and saw the girl standing. 'Molle!' – he yelled.

Chico and I both bit our lips, because we both agreed on the idea that it wasn't very elegant to be called a mole. The mole didn't pay any attention to the leader, whose face was getting pretty red, but stayed looking at the two of us, some kind of weird fascination in her eyes.

She was pretty enough I guess, as far as thirteen year old girls can be really pretty, as she had red hair, that was braided into one long braid. She wore saggy clothes, quite clear hand-me-downs and it were all men clothes. Only her skirt, Scottish print and socks, white-ish with lace on top, appeared to be sort of new and real girls clothing.

I noticed Chico throwing a sideways glance at me and I answered his confused face by raising my shoulders.

'Molly!' The gang leader yelled again, this time catching her attention, as her head snapped up towards him. I suddenly saw how much they looked alike. Both red hair and a slim and lean build and their nose bridge covered in freckles.

'What?' She asked, already looking bored, her hands in the pockets of the far too large men's jacket. The boy looked really angry. 'I told you not to follow me anymore. You're too little for stuff like this – you'll get yourself hurt. Just stay home with ma and nobody will touch you.'

On the moment he said that, I knew he couldn't have said something worse. The face of the girl first didn't change at all, then she narrowed her eyes and got her hands, balled into fists, out of her pockets and just stood there, looking up to the leader of the gang, the gang that was fighting over a few cigarettes down the street.

'Patrick, houd je mond dicht, als je niet weet wat je er mee moet.' She said and even though I didn't understand a word of it, I knew it was something pretty bad, because her brother (I just decided it had to be her brother) went to sit on his knees in front of her and grab both her arms tightly, shaking her. They apparently had completely forgot about us.

'I _told_ you! I don't want to hear that wretched language anymore! We live in New York! They speak English here!' I was a bit confused by that, because didn't they also in Ireland? That moment Chico pulled my sleeve and made it clear to me it was better to leave now, before problems could be shoved upon us.

Chico was silent while walking, what was unusual for him, but I had thoughts to worry about for myself, so I didn't question him. 'Leonard?' I asked, because that was his name before he became Chico. 'Mmh?' He answered. I was silent for a few seconds, not wanting to sound stupid, but always sounding stupid towards Chico. 'Do they talk English in Ireland?'

Chico began to chuckle. 'Of course they do, zit-face. They just aren't Irish. That's why that guy was being so paranoid. He wants to be the leader of an Irish gang, but isn't Irish himself; if his fellows find out, he's dead. He lied pretty bad.'

'Oh..' I said. It was silent again, until we reached the house of the friend of Chico. We knocked the door, but there was no answer. Chico backed up a bit, looking up to the building. He put his hands around his mouth and screamed; 'ROY, GET THE HELL OUTTA THERE!'

Up at the top floor a curtain moved and not ten seconds later the bolts were taken off the door and two untrusting eyes peaked through. When he saw it was really Chico he opened it a bit wider, but still not all the way.

'Good to see you, Marx.' He said to Chico. He looked at me. 'Little brother?' He asked me and I nodded. Chico ignored it. 'Forget him,' he said, shoving me aside. 'you owe me money, Roy. You said by the end of the month, so here I am.'

Roy tried to close the door, but Chico put his foot between the door, before it could lock. 'Oh no, Roy!' he said, pushing against the door and forcing Roy to open it all the way. 'I won't leave without my twenty bucks.' Roy gave up and opened the door, leaning against it. 'I'm sorry Leonard, I don't have it. This Italian gang robbed me last week. Robbed me from every cent I had.' He said.

Chico looked at him with narrowed eyes, not sure if to believe him or not. 'An Italian gang..?' He asked, as if to taste the words. Roy nodded infuriated. 'Yes! They even got my shoes.' He said, showing him his bare feet. Chico frowned.

'Well, since you can't pay me with money, I guess you'll just have to pay me otherwise, heah?' Roy stood up straight, a puzzled look on his features. Chico looked about the room. It was a dark and small room, one window, but blinded and a very big closet, made of wood. Chico walked in the house, towards the closet and opened its doors.

Roy protested. 'Hey, you can't just come in! I didn't! Wait, this is all highly inappropriate!' Chico shushed him and took a big hat with feathers out of the closet. 'What do you think, Adolph?' he said, addressing me, because I was named Adolph when I was a kid. 'Is this worth a couple of tens?'

Before I could say anything, Chico had thrown it back in, muttering; 'Nah, don't think so.'

After rummaging through the entire structure, he found a cupper coloured watch. He looked at it, made sure it was still working, inspected it on flaws and then pocketed it satisfied.

He came to stand next to me again, clapping Roy on the shoulder. 'I don't think I'll get a full twenty for it, but I'll just say your debt is paid. You already had enough pain caused by those scary Italian folks.' Roy made a last weak attempt to save the watch.

'It's my dads and I don't think he'll appreciate it if you..' He trailed of when he saw Chico's patronizing look.

'Goodbye Roy; I'll hope you'll get yourself a new pair of shoes soon. Try looking through dumpsters – you find plenty of shoes in there.' Chico said, while walking away, me jogging after him. The door banged closed and Chico began to laugh loudly.

I let him laugh, but, just before we came home I needed to ask him the question. 'Leonard..?' I asked. 'Mmh?' He answered. 'Why did you take the watch when he had such a hard time.. We know what he's going through..' Chico stopped and I stopped too. He put his hand on my head, ruffling my hair, smiling happily.

'Adolph, you're far too good.' Was the only thing he said to me, before he ran up the stairs to be greeted by Gummo screaming to Zeppo and Groucho muttering about "all the bloody noise we all made". It wasn't till years later when he finally told me that he knew that Roy had lied, because it wasn't the Italian gang that had stolen his shoes along with his money, but that it was himself, while playing their game of pinochle. Apparently Roy had fallen asleep during the game, so Chico and the other players had re-shuffled the cards and Chico had stolen his shoes, before they woke him up.

The first meeting with Molly was a very brief one, but one that couldn't leave me alone. Every time when I went to sleep, I thought about the intense way she looked at you, two sparkling grey eyes that punched you in the face. At dinner I noticed myself drifting away from conversation, hearing her speak in that foreign, kind of aggressive sounding, language and I caught myself dreaming about the country she could be from and imagining it to be the island where Robinson Crusoe stranded, in the book we read at school, years ago, before I left.

But still. As much as it fascinated me, it seemed like Chico was obsessed with it. At night, when only the two of us were still awake and I was starting to fall asleep too, he would nudge me in the ribs. 'Adolph?' He asked.

I would murmur some kind of incoherent answer, something that could mean either "yes" or "no", but it didn't seem to matter for him, since he would proceed anyway. 'That language she spoke.. It really seems familiar to me. I could swear I heard it before, but _where_!' He would curse a lot and then call me crazy when I was still listening.

Chico once slipped up while eating dinner, a rare occasion for Chico. It was a night with a lot of Relatives staying over for dinner. Relatives didn't mean they were related to us in any way; it just meant that they knew Mum and Dad well enough to know Dad was an amazing cook and that no one of us, even when we barely had enough food for ourselves, minded people sitting in.

Dad, named Samuel, but called Frenchie for most of the time, had made a soup. I didn't know how he did it, because the only edible things in the house as far as I knew were a couple of onions, the cabbages Groucho got from Mr Hammond as thanks for bringing his dog back (even though Gummo had stolen it – but Mr Hammond didn't knew that) and one very old bread, that no one dared to touch when Chico said he was hungry and Mum said we could have the bread.

However, there was soup and everybody was asking for seconds, even though there was nothing left. Zeppo, the youngest of us had already disappeared from the tables sight. Gummo was biting his nails, while intently looking at Dad talking to one of the Relatives. Groucho was busy with pretending he understood everything the grownups said, nodding every now and then and laughing when one of them laughed. Chico however, was listening to the conversation of Grandpa to one of the Relatives. And I say _to_ deliberately.

Grandpa lives with us, but only because he couldn't provide for himself anymore in Germany. We were all born here in New York, but Mum and Dad both moved here. They learned English and talked English, except with the German people in the street. Grandpa didn't though. He talked _Plattdeutsch_ with and to everyone, not really caring if someone understood it or not. The only reason I'm able to understand it is because when I stopped school when I was eight, I had a lot of time on my hands, so I started hanging out with Grandpa for long periods of times. I soon learned it was no use trying to learn him English so instead just began learning German.

I don't remember what he was talking about, but I did remember Chico's look of immense concentration while listening to it. Suddenly he sprang up. Normally no one would have noticed, since there was always a lot of noise around the table, with people laughing, yelling and for some maybe, too much movement, but Chico knocked his bowl from the table, spilling the last bits of cabbage that he had still left. He looked down at his feet, where the pieces of cabbage lay and then up again.

'Leonard, for God's sake boy, can't you sit still for one second?' Mum said, standing up herself, hurrying for the kitchen to get something to wipe it up. Leonard sat down again, folding his legs underneath him, so Mum could reach the cabbage better with the wet towel she brought. 'Such a waste.' One of the Relatives said. 'It really tasted great.'

Conversation flared up again and no one paid any attention to Chico again and Chico did nothing to gain it, what was a miracle on itself, but I didn't lost sight of him till bedtime, even when Dad found Zeppo sleeping underneath the table and everyone started to compliment him on his cute little boy so loudly Zeppo woke up and started yelling. We were already in bed when I finally got the chance to ask Chico about what was wrong.

All of us brothers slept in the same bed and it was fighting for your place. Chico had his part of the bed, because he was the oldest and the biggest. I most of the time made sure I had a spot too, but was (and still am) a big softy and really unable to act up when Groucho, Gummo or Zeppo would push me away. 'Leonard?' I asked.

I knew the others already slept, but Leonard was mostly unable to sleep till deep in the night. 'What is it?' He answered, sitting upright, kicking the blankets away. I kept laying down. 'What was that during dinner? You were just listening to Grandpa and out of nowhere you freaked out.' Even though it was dark, I knew Chico raised his eyebrows. 'I did not freak out.' He said defensively.

I kept silent, hoping he would proceed by himself, but he didn't. 'But what was it then?' I asked after a while. Chico let himself fall down again, making me and the others wobble on the bed. I heard Groucho roll over, squashing Gummo in the process, but they were both so vast asleep that they didn't notice.

'You know that I recognized the language that girl was speaking, right?' I didn't tell him that it was impossible to not know, since he speculated about it every night, but just nodded. 'Well, I now know where I recognized it from.' He said, triumph shining through his tone of words.

'You do?' I asked. 'So what language is it?' I could see his teeth shine in the little light that shone through the windows, when he bit his lip. 'I don't know. I just know it sounds like German.' I couldn't help than to be a bit disappointed by that conclusion. 'So you still don't know what language she was speaking?'

He made an annoyed noise. 'It _could_ be German.' I shook my head. 'We would have understood German.' He chuckled. 'Not necessarily. Grandpa speaks a whole other dialect of German than them Germans do in down in Yorkville. It could just as well be German, but another _kind_ of German.' He said. 'Okay, that's true I guess.' I said, hesitantly.

It was silent for a long time and I slowly felt myself losing my sight of reality, so I'm not sure if Chico really whispered; 'I just wish I could see her again.'

We did see her again. Not two weeks after that night, Chico came home covered in bruises, grinning like a madman. Mum was unfazed about it. She washed him up, not asking what happened, because it was hardly the first time Chico got into a fight. She slapped him on the back of the head when he left the living room and his grin widened.

He took me aside that afternoon, when everyone was minding their own business. 'Adolph, I saw her again!' He said. It took me a few seconds to realize he talked about Molly. 'You did?' I asked him. 'The Mole you mean?' He snickered and I felt strangely proud to make my big brother laugh. 'Yes, "The Mole".' He answered, emphasizing his words.

'She's called Molly though. I saw her walk into this apartment building, so I asked one of the gals in the street about her. She was happy to help me fortunately. She's called Molly Padlock, she's thirteen or fourteen and moved here with her family from Europe a few months ago.'

I frowned. 'And that girl could tell you all this?' Chico shrugged. 'She goes to the same school.' I nodded. 'But why did she tell you all this? I mean, you're kind of a stranger, aren't you?' Chico looked the other way. 'Let's just say I already knew her.'

I began to get curious. 'You did? From where?' Chico seemed hesitant to answer, looking at me as if to size me up and I unconsciously sat up straighter, wanting to make a good impression on him. Apparently I passed the test, because he leaned back and said; 'We got together once at the poolroom behind Mr Gookie's cigar shop and she hoped to go over the, uhm, experience again.'

My first reaction was; 'Ew, girls are gross!' Chico smiled. 'Yes, Adolph, they are and I take every advantage of it that I can possibly take.'

He was long gone before I got that one.

That night, when we were ordered to bed by Mum, Chico lightened a candle and told all of us a little ghost story, while sitting in the bed. None of us wanted to know about the ghost story though. 'But Leonard!' Gummo said, yanking at Chico's sleeve, almost making him drop the candle. 'Tell us about your fight. You fought didn't you? Don't lie, I know you fought!' he said and he began to hop up and down excitedly.

'A gorilla could tell he had a fight.' Groucho said, eyeing Chico's bruises and black eye. 'Or maybe see him as a possible mating conquest, as you look like one right now. I bet you are quite an attractive gorilla, Leonard!' A few snickers went through the circle, but it became quiet soon again. We all watched Chico expectantly.

Chico took the liberty of testing our patience and only when Zeppo looked like he was about to burst of curiosity, he said, in a soft and whispery voice; 'This afternoon, just before I came home, I was talking to this girl at Lexington Avenue.' I immediately knew he was talking about the girl who told him about Molly. 'She was telling me about this other girl, when one of the brothers of the girl she was telling me about walked by. He heard us and wanted to know what we were talking about.'

Zeppo looked like he was about to bite his tongue off, looking up to Chico with wide eyes. Gummo's face I couldn't see, but I saw his tense shoulders, ready to cheer when Chico would throw a hit and Groucho was smiling with his mouth opened. The little nine year old bookworm might thought poker and pinochle and other games of chance that Chico liked were childish, but he loved hearing about Chico's fights. I can't say I was any different.

'I told him that he should stick to his own business, but he got mad and whistled and suddenly five other hulky guys, that looked just like him, were by his side. What-a you think? The girl we were talking about had six brothers! And they were all mad at me!'

So the Mole had six brothers. I could easily imagine six big and broad guys, with red mops of hair on top of their heads and hundreds of freckles covering their noses.

'I'm not going to lie – I tried to run like a girl, but one of them caught me by the arm and pushed me against the wall. I kicked him in the stomach and he had to drop me, but two more of them were waiting for me.' Zeppo squeaked.

'One of them hit me in the face and the other one square in the chest. Damn me if that didn't hurt!' He winced for dramatic effect. 'Well I told them they were a bunch of girls for beating up a fourteen year old, but that only made one of them hit me in the face again. Then they let me go, but I spat the one closest to me in the face. I got the hell outta there of course, but it wasn't like they didn't try to catch me. They followed me all the way down to Yorkville before I lost them. On my way home I almost bumped into them again, at the beginning of 93rd street.'

We all laughed, because it was a funny story – not as spectacular as some other stories Chico came home with, but still good enough to make us all fall asleep with a smile on our faces.

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><p>enjoyed it?<p>

Please review and tell me what you think of it.. I tried very hard to keep true to reality. And evidentally it's not about the movies, but about their own life.

Disclaimer; They are their own


	2. The Relative

Here is my second chapter on my Marx Brothers fanfic! I got more reviews on this than I expected! Good to know there are still fans of them around. It's weird how they are 'forgotten' like this. Charlie Chaplin isn't forgotten, Laurel and Hardy, but they. They were AT LEAST as famous back then and till deep in the seventies Groucho couldn't go on the streets wihtout being recognized.

Well I'll just begin.

Chico Marx = Leonard (the _chicken chaser_ and oldest of brothers)

Harpo Marx = Adolph (the storyteller - it's supposedly his autobiography of the sort - is the second son)

Groucho Marx = Julius (the third son and quite a bookworm and quite a wit too)

Gummo Marx = Milton (never went into either Broadway or film - the fourth son)

Zeppo Marx = Herbert (got out of showbusiness as soon as he could, after his contract ran out with Paramount - fifth son)

Oh, by the way! I have a hard time mimicking Groucho. Groucho was such an incredible wit, that I find it very hard to make the jokes Groucho-standard, but I try - PLEASE don't judge me on it though!

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

Before telling you more about the story involving Molly I'm just going to tell you a bit more about me and my family. The Marxes were poor, very poor and till I was about eight we didn't live in one place. We moved around a lot, never out of the neighbourhood, but still, fleeing from money-hungry landlords, we couldn't pay. However when we settled down, we settled down at 179 East 93rd Street, a little Jewish neighbourhood, squashed in between the Irish in the north and the Germans in the south, in Yorkville.

I went to school till my eighth. I've always been quite small and when you also tend to be quiet and have a squeaky voice _when_ you speak, you always have some bullies watching over you. Chico never had that problem, even though we looked so much alike at that age, that people took us as twins. However Chico was always sure of himself and there were little people who knew how to outtalk or outsmart him in any way.

My bullies were two Irishers. They were big and ugly, like all bullies ought to be and now and then, when Miss Flatto, the condescending teacher, left the room they would throw me out of the window. It was an eight foot fall, so not even close to deadly, but when it was done to you quite a few times you would get sore in the bones.

Every time that would happen, I would stretch my arms and legs, dust myself off and then calmly walk back into the school. Miss Flatto thought I was mentally instable. I didn't do all too well in school, because I would dream my way through the day and when I would come back from the 'bathroom' without asking her for permission to go in the first place (I knew I would be even worse off if I would snitch on one of the big, ugly classmates), she would like to predict my future in front of the class. I would never make it in life, I would be a complete failure. She would waggle her finger beneath my nose and say; '_Someday you will realize, young man, you will realize_.'

Mum was far too busy with keeping Chico out of the poolroom, to keep me in the schoolroom, so she sent someone else. My cousin Polly lived with us and she had a boyfriend who was a herring peddler. He used to stand in the streets, with wooden buckets full of fish surrounding him, calling out to people; 'Hey, best here! Best here! Best here in the verld!' – since he was German.

You could always smell him from a block away, so when he one day showed up in my classroom, with buckets, smell and all, Miss Flatto pinched her nose and commanded him to leave the school immediately.

Cousin Polly was so embarrassed by him that she broke off with him and began something with a tailor, whom she later on married. She congratulated herself on escaping the herring peddler before it was too late. Interesting is that the herring peddler succeeded in a number of businesses years later and died a very wealthy man.

However I knew I was done when he showed up at school. The two Irish kids now took every chance they could get to throw me out of the school window. I was thrown out with such regularity and Miss Flatto was beginning to get so convinced of her own predictions of my future, that one sunny day, when I was heaved out again, I just dusted myself off and then turned my back on Public School 86 and walked straight home.

That was the end of my formal education.

Not the end of my education though. My first real teacher, because I never really counted my Second Grade teacher, Miss Flatto, was Grandpa. He taught me German, by refusing to learn English himself and magic tricks, because he used to be a magician back in Germany.

Grandpa was not a Relative. He was Family. A Relative was anyone who was named either Marx, like Dad or Schoenberg, like Mum, or who spoke Plattdeutsch, who turned up in our flat at dinnertime and made sure all of us could eat even less. A lot of strange people became Relatives, but no one was ever rejected.

Grandpa wasn't a Relative though. He and Grandma were Mum's parents and even though Grandma died shortly after we moved to East 93rd street, Grandpa stayed around till 1919, when he was exactly a hundred years old. He was Family.

When I quit school before even the end of Second Grade, I didn't know what to do with myself, except keep myself as far away from P.S. 86 as I could. School was fine for Groucho, who was knocking off 100's in the First Grade and for Chico who was in the Fifth Grade and a mathematic genius, but it was soon clear that I didn't like it one bit.

Mum and Dad accepted the fact that I wasn't going back without questions. Mum was busy with the career of her brother Al Schoenberg, who later changed it to Al Shean, trying to make him into a successful Broadway actor, which she succeeded in and furthermore only made sure Chico didn't spent too much time in the chance games. She thought she had done her duty anyway, by sending over Polly's boyfriend, to make sure I was okay.

Mum only had one major goal in her life. She wanted to put her kid brother (Uncle Al) and her five sons on stage and make them successful. A nut job, especially since only Uncle Al and Groucho wanted to be on the stage in the first place and after Groucho got a taste of the stage, he wanted to be a writer.

Our sights of the future were simple. Gummo wanted to be an inventor, Zeppo a prize-fighter, Chico a professional gambler and myself wanted to be a piano player on a ferryboat. However Minnie Schoenberg Marx had her mind set on something and she would get it her way.

Back to Grandpa. Grandpa had his own little room in the front of the flat, so from the window you could see the clock tower, the only way for us to tell the time, since we didn't have any watches for ourselves. But on the other hand. It wasn't like we needed one; we weren't expected anywhere anyway.

Once, with my Bar Mitzvah on my thirteenth birthday, I got a watch. The present was quite a relief actually, since I already got a pair of gloves of Cousin Polly and another pair of gloves from Aunt Hannah and another one from either Dad or Grandpa or both, so when I got the shiny two dollar watch from Mum, I was quite pleased with it.

However Chico had a nose for money. Every time I would make a few quarters and would hide it somewhere, he would find it and use it as his own. Once I even hid the dime Uncle Al gave me behind the wallpaper – I had found a little tear in it, but the next morning when I woke up, the tear had widened, the dime had gone missing and Chico had gone missing too, even though he normally sleeps in till noon. Every somewhat valuable item ever possessed by me when I was younger, was taken away by Chico, so he could get some money for it in the hockshops.

That was the most probable thing that could happen with my watch, but I was set on not letting him have it. When I got it I already saw his eyes glister and I knew even my Bar Mitzvah presents weren't save from his Older Brother hands. He waited a few days in respect, but then would slip it off my wrist when I was sleeping. It was a good thing it was the first and last time I outsmarted Chico.

I had taken the hands out of the watch, which made it impossible to read the time. Chico never wanted it, because how much could you get for a watch that can't tell the time? And if I wanted to know the time I would smile at my watch and look at the clock tower.

My second real teacher was undoubtedly Chico. Even though he was not two years older than me, he was far advanced in the ways of the world. He was a mathematic genius, so much was sure and he used that in the most practical way; gambling. He learned how to bet on horse and dog races, how to play pinochle, poker, bridge and every possible other way that could make you rich and poor in an instant. He was the one who learned me to never shoot dice on a blanket, how to detect loaded dice, how to handle the pool que, how to play the cards and to never _ever_ go against the odds.

Chico had an uncanny talent in getting people to do things the way he wanted them. He was the one who got us to London, who got us into Broadway, who got us into A Rate Films and with that a certain percentage of the profit made – as first of all Hollywood movie stars in history! As far as I know the first real big time project he did was the Marx Cuckoo Clock Corporation. Uncle Al was quite an actor now on Broadway and every time he'd visit he would give us all a dime. Normally, when I'd hustle a quarter from somewhere, I'd feel guilty if I didn't kick in a part in the family kitty, but not with the occasional dime we got from Uncle Al! That was given to us. It was pure spending money!

We were all dazed! We didn't know what to do with a fortune like that, except for Chico. Chico said to me he would invest his and my dime into the cuckoo clocks they sold down the block. I wanted to know how much he could make with it. He bought one clock for twenty cents and sold it to one of the hockshops for fifty. A thirty cents profit! I gave him my dime and he bought more clocks. He said business was now too good for me to stay a silent partner, so he sent me off with the command to sell those clocks for more than twenty cents.

It turned out that at every hockshop I dropped by, Chico had already sold a clock and the owner would think I was the same kid, because we used to look so much alike, who tried to make fun of him in some way and order me out of his shop.

Chico told me he would take care of all the hockshops and I should work on all the people through the neighbourhood. I walked into the store of an ice worker. 'Cuckoo clocks! Cuckoo clocks, the best around, guaranteed!' I don't know where the _guaranteed_ came from, I probably felt on high spirits because of Chico's confidence in the business, but the ice worker asked me how long it would run, before he had to give it a pull.

'Eight hours!' I answered him, sweating nervously. 'Okay.' He said, leaning against his counter. 'Stay here and hold the clock. If it's still running eight hours from now, I'll buy it.'

A long day started. Clients came in and went out and I was scared the clock would suddenly stop, because I had no idea how long it was supposed to run, so every time the man turned around, I would give the string a little pull, just to make it go just a little longer. Unfortunately he caught me in the act once and he kicked me on the street, with the clock, laughing like he hadn't laughed so much in years.

When I got back to Chico, it turned out Chico sold all his clocks. He had earned more than eleven dollars! I was too ashamed to ask for anything than my original dime, but Chico insisted I would take half the share. I told him he should try to double it in pinochle and damned if he didn't do just that, that same night. The Marx Cuckoo Clock Corporation was now worth 29,90$. I had never seen such a fabulous pile of cash before.

However I still felt lousy about the ice works fiasco, so I told Chico to redouble it. The next day he lost everything in a pinochle game. Chico said that should be a lesson to me. 'It was against the odds, Adolph and I said it already; Never go against the odds!'

Chico always has been a master in hustling his way through life. He could imitate about every accent and he used it every time he got himself in the scrap. He also had a photographic, slightly selective memory. If you would ask him now what cards he was holding, what cards the others were holding and in what order the remaining cards lay in the deck, in the bridge game he played more than thirty years ago, he could tell you without hesitation. However I doubt if he can tell you the name of his First Grade teacher.

When I quit school I didn't see much of Chico, because Chico never came straight home. He stopped with school too on his own accord (unlike the others who were pulled out by Mum), about two or three years later than me, when he was twelve. He decided he knew enough about math to put out a good game and he was knowledgeable enough to mingle in the action.

When he was younger it was soon evident that he had a knack for arithmetical figures, but when he became older it also was quite evident that he had a talent for the non-arithmetical figures too. Girls loved Chico and Chico loved girls. I barely saw him with the same girl twice and he never brought any of them home, but if you would visit him in the poolroom all the focus of every girl in the room was on Chico.

Chico once, when we were both a little older, set me up with a gal, on a double date. He came with another girl and I, a nervous young lad, who didn't knew the first thing about taking a girl out, started to stammer a story about Grandpa's pipe.

While I was telling my story Chico was having a pretty good time with his girl. I was still talking when he started to have a pretty good time with my girl also. I wasn't even half through with my story when Chico and both the girls were long gone, doing I-don't-know-what, leaving me sitting alone, not sure of what to do, until I just took my hat and walked home.

The only girl Chico ever brought home was Molly. And that wasn't the way he wanted it all.

...

I was sitting on the stoop, in front of the flat we lived in and Gummo and Zeppo were playing next to me. I was just bouncing a tennis ball on the street, letting it bounce a few times, before catching it again. I could hear Dad sing while cooking dinner, upstairs.

Next to me Groucho sat down, a grumpy look on his face and a book in his hand. I wasn't quick enough a reader to read the title, before he laid it upside down beside him. 'Dad is making too much noise.' He said. I said nothing and just continued to bounce the ball.

Because I quit school at my eighth I didn't learn to read right away. I taught myself by looking at street signs and the like. Stuff like _All you can eat_ signs, _Don't walk on the grass_ signs and _This is a private area and therefor prohibited_ signs learned me how to read and I'm glad to say I can read well enough to read without moving my lips.

'The house is always so full.' Groucho continued. 'It's never just quiet.' I shrugged. 'Well, that's life I guess. I like it.' I answered Groucho. Groucho nodded. 'I guess so. I do too, but it's hard just reading a book.' For a few moments he was silent and I bounced my ball. 'Did you know Mum wants to put me and Milton and that Lou Levy kid on stage?' Groucho suddenly said.

I didn't had time to answer him before Zeppo yelled; 'LEONARD!' I looked to my left and saw Zeppo running towards an uncharacteristically annoyed looking Chico. I knew why immediately. Besides him walked Molly. She had a smug look on her face.

Chico caught Zeppo when he was about to bump into him. 'Hey little fella!' He said upbeat, wiping the grouchy look from his face. Groucho made a sound I couldn't quite place. 'Who's _that_?' He asked and I assumed he was talking about Molly.

I shrugged. 'I don't really know. I met her a few times. Leonard knows her.' Groucho snorted. 'Well of course Leonard knows her. Is there a girl he doesn't "know"?' I couldn't help but to laugh myself too. 'Perhaps.' I said, making a face.

Chico slapped me on the back of my head. 'Hey, brothers, are you gossiping about me? You're like a couple of old ladies.' I protested and Groucho said; 'A bit of respect to the old ladies, please!'

Molly came to stand next to Chico. 'Hi, Adolph!' She said. I noticed she pronounced my name like the Germans did, with an _A_ like in _car_. Then I realized she knew my name and I blushed. 'Uhm, hello..' I stammered and Chico rolled his eyes. That made me feel even stupider.

Molly smiled at Groucho, who was pretty red in the face too. 'And which brother are you?' She asked politely, to which Groucho answered with 'The other one.'

Mum was delighted to have Molly there and kept complimenting her on the beautiful colour of her hair and the material of her cotton dress and I heard Chico murmuring annoyed remarks more than once. She stayed for dinner and therefor became a Relative, what was exactly the thing Chico didn't want to have happened. Mum and Dad kept track of their Relatives. Asked how they were, invited them for dinner and made sure they were comfortable. Mum and Dad were both very unselfish.

Chico didn't like that, because that way he couldn't just break off with her if he started something with her. I know Chico liked her, but Mum and Dad making her a Relative made him unable to begin anything with her.

However Molly kept track with the family pretty good. Not much Relatives had showed up that evening, so in the end it were only Mum, Dad, Grandpa, Cousin Polly, Zeppo, Gummo, Groucho, Chico and myself and of course Molly. Aunt Hannah dropped by at the beginning but excused herself again later on, hurrying of again.

'So..' Dad began. 'Where do you live?' Molly first didn't answer, swallowing the leftover soup from the day before, that Dad had updated with new ingredients. 'Wow, this is really good, Mr Marx!' She said, shoving in another gulp with the wooden spoon.

Dad waved it off. 'Just call me Frenchie, girl, just like everyone else does!' Molly didn't answer, busy with her soup. When she swallowed she said; 'I live just up north. In the Irish part.' Dad looked surprised. 'The Irish? Are you Irish? You sure don't _sound_ Irish.' I suddenly realized how right he was. She didn't sound Irish at all. More British, but somehow so completely New Yorks, that it was, now I noticed, outstandingly weird.

I saw Chico's head snap up, probably curious as hell. However Molly didn't seem too eager in answering. 'Well, my mother is Danish.. maybe that's it.' She said vaguely. Chico frowned, but besides that nobody looked very fazed by the answer.

It was a nice dinner, primarily because it was the first dinner in weeks that we ate without all the Relatives. Okay, Molly was there, but she was, for some reason, part of the family as soon as she set foot into the house. It seemed cosy and intimate and Chico cracked some jokes and Groucho sang a song (he used to have a nice soprano voice) and we played a few rounds of cards, where Zeppo played along with Dad and Gummo with Chico.

In the end won Chico, but just, as Dad and Molly had cards that almost matched his. Zeppo and Gummo were put to bed, which was a lot harder than you might think as they were yelling at each other about the card game (Gummo: '_HAHA, I WON!_' Zeppo: '_NO YOU DIDN_'_T! YOU KNOW LEONARD ALWAYS CHEATS!_').

Groucho had talked his way out of going to bed, claiming he still had to do a homework assignment and even though Mum didn't belief a thing of it, she let him sit with us. I was just glad that I was already twelve and considered big enough to be able to stay up till ten.

It was a rare sight, us sitting at the table like that. First of all, because Dad normally went off to his pinochle game after dinner, so wouldn't be around now. Next to that Chico was barely ever home, except for dinner and sometimes for sleeping. Also there was a strange girl, none of us knew, sitting at the table, a cup of tea between her hands.

We talked a lot, more than we had in a long time and Mum and Dad talked about when they were young in Germany. Molly nodded a lot and Mum asked how she felt about moving from Europe to New York. Molly just shrugged. 'Every nationality you find in Europe, you'll find here, it sometimes seems.' She said. 'You have the Irish, the Germans, the Italians, the Dutch.. Just like home. The only big difference, I think, is that back home we didn't have to fight for it, because we already have our country, but here everyone needs to show it and make sure no one crosses their territory. It all feels rather pointless.' She said. She shrugged. 'But well..'

It's maybe good to mention that at this point neither the First or the Second World War has happened yet.

When it was ten thirty and Groucho was sleeping with his eyes open, Dad thought it would be a good idea for Chico to drop Molly of at her home. 'You don't let a lady walk the streets alone at this time at night.' Chico rolled his eyes but nodded, grabbing his coat. Molly shook Dad's hand and kissed Mum three times on the cheeks, like they do in Europe and then walked into the hallway, saying she would just look for her gloves and she would be ready to go after that.

Mum was slowly prying the book from between Groucho's fingers, trying not to wake him up, when Chico murmured he would just help her look for her gloves, before they would be waiting for her all night. Dad sat down at the table, laying out the cards at the table and starting a little game of vist against himself and I was watching the game unfold, when I saw a pair of black leather gloves laying on the table. I didn't think any of us had a pair of women's gloves, black and of leather or not, so I assumed they were Molly's. I snatched them off the table and walked into the hallway. I was greeted by a shocking sight.

I guess that even at that age I knew my big brother was a _chicken chaser_ like you would say in those times, but I never, till that time, saw any other proof of it, than girls always hanging around him and always touching him unnecessarily, on the arm or shoulder or sometimes his hair and it seemed a bit weird for me as a little boy, but now it became all clear to me.

On the hallway I was greeted with the sight of Chico kissing Molly. He had pushed her up against the wall and his arms were around her waist and her hands were in his hair and I was so completely thrown off by this image that I dropped the gloves and sprinted out of there.

I heard Chico calling; 'Who was that! Adolph? Come back here, you little..!' But I jumped in bed, waking up Gummo who began to groan. A bit of noise was heard from the living/dining room. 'What's wrong?' I heard the faraway voice of Mum say. Chico answered grumpily. 'Adolph. He apparently found her gloves, but just threw them on the floor.' I huffed a bit annoyed, but I've always been unable to stay mad at anyone for more than a few seconds, so soon I was listening for more noises from outside the bedroom.

I heard the door slam shut, when Chico and Molly left and I soon began to wonder if they would pick up where they left off, when they got outside and away from the watching eyes of Mum and Dad. I wouldn't know why not, but what did I know about it?

I couldn't fall asleep for what seemed like hours, so when Chico finally got home again, I thought about what took him so long. Mum and Dad didn't comment on the time it took him. I heard chairs scraping the floor and Mum putting down the tea kettle on the table. 'So..' Mum suddenly said.

I tried to listen harder, because it was all very soft, there _was_ a wall between it after all.

'So?' Chico asked. Dad snorted. 'Well, who is she? How did you meet her? Is that your girlfriend?' He answered. 'I like her.' Mum said. 'She reminds me of me, in a way.'

Chico made a noise of disgust. 'Thanks Mum, now _that_ makes me hot for her!' Mum giggled, a very girly, Non-Minnie-Marx kind of giggle and Dad laughed loudly and from the sound of it, he slapped Chico on the back. 'You picked out a good one.' He continued. 'She's a very pretty gal and she seems intelligent also. And most important; she likes my cooking!'

Chico chuckled, but then said; 'Don't you get all wound up, guys, because she's _not_ my girlfriend. Maybe someday, but most certainly not now.' He said. I frowned. Why did he lie like that? You couldn't kiss a girl like that, without her being your girlfriend, could you?

Dad sounded disappointed when he said; 'Well, don't let the nice ones slip away, son.' Mum agreed. 'She's the kind of girl I wouldn't mind you getting married to, someday in the future.' Dad laughed loudly again and answered her; 'See that face! Don't frighten him like that, Minnie, or he'll die a heart attack, before he even gets old enough to marry!'

After that there wasn't much noise and a little after I fell asleep.

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Disclaimer: The Marx Brothers and several people and places used are their own!


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